


worried about nothing

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Actors, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anonymity, Blow Jobs, M/M, personal assistant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: “What’s your name?” Jack asked again, between one kiss and the next.“Bitty,” the guy said. Jack had to hold back an incredulous laugh.“That sounds fake, but ok…”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this, I should explain that this was originally part of a much bigger fic that exists solely in my mind. It's quite open-ended, and maybe someday I'll add another chapter or make this a series but for now it is a standalone, and I hope u enjoy this!! Not beta'd, and I am posting at 2am so if there are any glaring mistakes please don't hesitate to @ me.
> 
> for Silvia. because i love her most.

There had been some controversy in the beginning, when everyone had assumed that Jack would follow in his father’s footsteps. It wasn't that Jack didn’t like hockey, because Jack _loved_ hockey. It was just that it was all… too much pressure for him. Being in the spotlight for his whole life meant that acting was something that came naturally to him. He played off of his flaws and used them to make him better at what he did. His anxiety, his ambition, his focus — all bled into his acting. Jack Zimmermann was, quite frankly, a prodigy.

There was, of course, the fact that the world of acting was a lot kinder to people of Jack’s persuasion than the world of sports. But even that wasn’t foolproof. Sure, he had a couple of Emmys under his belt and even, at the tender age of twenty-five, an oscar nomination. But for some reason, once people found out you’re gay, skill was something that no longer mattered. It was 2015 and ‘he’s a really good actor’ still sometimes became ‘he’s a really good actor… for a queer’.

“Fuck it, man,” Kent said, every time he saw that hunted look in Jack’s eyes. “Fuck it. Let’s find a party.”

It was what they did. They partied, Kent pulled girls and guys left right and centre, Jack had five vodkas too many and they went home together in a taxi that they’d later have to pay to clean. It was destructive, Jack knew, but it was better than facing his problems head on.

.

It was a night like any other. Jack was so drunk that he got a surprise every time he touched his own face and felt the stubble there; it was a new thing he’d been trying out, jealous of Kent’s playoffs beard. He could feel the bass under his feet and in his chest and his throat, and he hadn’t even flinched when the bartender told him his order of a vodka and cranberry was ‘kinda girly, man’.

Kent had disappeared a little while earlier. Last Jack had seen him, he was sandwiched between a tall guy and a small girl on a dance floor, looking spoiled for choice. Jack had been sticking to the edges of the floor ever since, watching the crowd all pulsing to the same beat.

The crowd parted briefly, ebbing and flowing, in and out; a shimmer of blonde caught Jack’s eye, and for a moment he thought he’d caught sight of Kent again. Then Jack saw the guy’s face and if his attention hadn’t been grasped before, it certainly was now.

He was on the smaller side of average for a guy, but athletically built — Jack could see flashes of a toned stomach beneath a jersey-style crop top. He let his gaze slide down as the crowd shifted, his eyes finding a pair of long legs in denim shorts. But that _face_ , god, what a beautiful face. Big, dark eyes, small upturned nose, a pretty little mouth. Jack was well aware by now that he had a type, and this guy was ticking every damn box in it.

Jack, drunk enough not to care, pushed off the wall and into the crowd, leaving his drink behind. The pretty blonde caught his eye, grinned, still dancing, letting Jack press up into his space and dance against him.

“Hi,” Jack mouthed, knowing he wouldn’t he heard over the music.

The guy grinned in return, and ran his hands over Jack’s chest up onto his shoulders. No messing around, straight to it. And the more they danced, the more Jack thought about how much he _wanted_ this guy, in a way he hadn’t really wanted in a long time. He didn’t usually pick up at clubs or parties. He didn’t _do this._

“What’s your name?” he asked, and the guy looked up at him, confused, pointed to his ear and shook his head. The music was too loud. Jack lifted his hand to the guy’s chest, and drew a ‘J’ in the centre, and then pointed to him self. In return, he got what was probably a letter ‘B’ drawn on him, and a beautiful smile from the other man, dancing up against him, taking Jack’s hands and putting them on his waist. And yeah, Jack was drunk, but not drunk enough to stop him from getting hard when he had a gorgeous man grinding up against his thigh.

When he went in for the kiss, he didn’t hold back. He laid down all his cards, and the cute blonde took him for all he was worth, kissing him deep and filthily, until they were both stumbling into a bathroom stall, without either of them really knowing how they got there.

“What’s your name?” Jack asked again, between one kiss and the next.

“Bitty,” the guy said. Jack had to hold back an incredulous laugh.

“That sounds fake, but ok…”

‘Bitty’ laughed, playing with the collar of Jack’s shirt between his thumb and forefinger.

“What about you, darlin’?” he asked, as Jack cupped the back of his head, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the short-shorn hair. It was longer on top — just the right length for pulling.

“Jay,” he said, because if _Bitty_ was going to give him a fake name, Jack sure as hell was going to do it too.

Up close, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the restroom, Bitty looked younger than Jack had thought.

“Uh… how old are you?”

Bitty pressed a kissed to Jack’s jaw.

“Twenty,” he said softly. Jack turned his head to kiss him, satisfied. Bitty was obviously American, a soft southern twang to his accent apparent in his pleasantly scratchy voice, recognisable despite the slight slur. Canada’s drinking laws were a little more lax than the USA’s. “Are you gonna let me blow you, or…?”

“Oh,” Jack said, surprised. “Fuck, yeah do it.”

Bitty got to his knees gingerly, palming the front of Jack’s jeans as he went, and Jack closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the side of the stall. He looked down at the sound of his zipper opening, just in time to see Bitty lick his lips, dark eyes glittering with anticipation. He pushed Jack’s jeans down his thighs, wrapping his fingers around Jack’s cock and jerking it a few times, and even just being touched by this guy felt amazing. Jack was vaguely worried he might not make it to the main act.

“’S a nice dick,” Bitty said, admiringly, and Jack laughed, reaching down to push Bitty’s hair back off his face, the blonde strands feeling soft and tug-worthy between his fingers. Bitty groaned and ducked down to wrap his lips around the head of Jack’s cock, sucking it deep into his mouth with ease. Jack’s breath caught in the back of his throat as Bitty began to bob his head, working the base of Jack’s cock expertly with his fist.

It was going to be over so quickly, Jack knew, letting his hand cup Bitty’s cheek and feeling the head of his dick slide against it from the inside, his stomach clenching when Bitty looked up at him with those wide, gorgeous eyes, long blonde lashes and freckles across the bridge of his nose. Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone so beautiful. 

Bitty pulled off after a while to rub his jaw, and asked, “You wanna come in my mouth?” and it felt like Jack’s stomach did a triple axel. 

“Yeah, fuck,” he murmured. “I’m— I’m close.”

“Okay,” Bitty said quietly, smiling softly, somehow managing to look _innocent_ right before he was swallowing Jack’s cock again. Jack, true to his word, came barely a minute later, fingers tangled in Bitty’s hair at the crown of his head right where the shorn strands ended and the longer ones began. Bitty leaned away to spit delicately into the bowl of the toilet next to them, his hand continuing to work Jack until he whined, too sensitive. But for some reason, he didn’t want Bitty to stop touching him, even if it was just a soft hand on his hip as he zipped Jack’s jeans back up.

Jack wanted to return the favour so badly, it was probably written all over his face. Bitty stood up carefully, grinned when Jack leaned in to kiss him, uncaring of his taste in Bitty’s mouth.

“You’re… very good at that.”

“One of my _many_ talents,” Bitty said, mildly.

“Let me take you home,” Jack replied, and Bitty’s eyes widened in delight. He was just opening his mouth to answer, when the door of the bathroom slammed open, the noise of the club bleeding in momentarily and then fading out again.

“Bits? You in here?”

Bitty dropped his hands away from where they’d been resting on Jack’s shoulders, turning his face towards the door of the stall.

“Lardo?”

“Bitty, I hate to interrupt you, but Shits may or may not be getting arrested right now.”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Bitty whispered, suddenly scrambling for the lock on the door, “What did he do?”

“Fucking idiot was smoking out back and a cop walked by,” the voice, ‘Lardo’, said, and when Bitty opened the door of the stall they were faced with a very small, but sharp-looking girl on the other side. She gave Jack a once-over, an appraisal, and gave Bitty a thumbs up.

“Nice.”

“I know,” Bitty turned his head, and grinned up at Jack. “Jay here was… just offering me a place to stay tonight. I’m truly sorry that I’ll have to decline.”

“That’s okay,” Jack said, softly, “Go help your friend.”

Bitty bit his lip, looking as though he wanted to say something else, but Lardo had already hooked his arm and was dragging him out of the bathroom.

“I had fun!” Bitty called, as he slipped out the door and into the noise outside. Jack sighed deeply, and turned to the sinks to see his reflection in the mirrors. Somehow his hair was a mess, and his cheeks flushed. He looked utterly _fucked_. He guessed, in a way, he kind of _was_.

.

Jack was used to waking up next to Kent. It was just something that happened when they partied together; stumbling home together was a whole lot easier than stumbling home alone, and it was nice to have someone to talk shit with when you were drunk off your face in bed.

This time they were in Jack’s house, he realised, glancing over at Kent curled up next to him. He was nothing more than tuft of blonde hair visible above the comforter, two forearms shoved under the pillow as he lay on his stomach. Jack closed his eyes again, was just drifting back to sleep when he heard tyres on the gravel driveway outside, and he groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming next.

Jack counted the seconds in his head, and as he reached thirty-two, Alicia Zimmermann threw open the door of his bedroom and strode inside.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said, stepping over various items of clothing to get to the other side of the room. Jack winced as light spilled into the room, Alicia yanking the curtains back with a viciousness that belied her tone of voice. “I was worried I’d have to scrape you off the bathroom floor. Again.”

“‘M fine,” Jack mumbled, “Paced myself.”

Kent sat upright in the bed, very suddenly, but silently. Alicia continued to fix the curtains, her hair falling in her face.

“I’m going to make breakfast. _Really_ Jack, it smells like a brewery in here. You know I hate nagging you but I’m starting to— oh, Kenny honey, how are you?” Alicia asked as she turned around again, finally spotting Kent next to Jack. “Pancakes or cinnamon toast?”

“Pancakes,” Kent said, because he’s a shit and he knew Jack would want the toast. “And I’m as fresh as a daisy, thanks. You look lovely today, Mrs Z.”

“Thank you,” Alicia smiled her smile at him, the one that had made a nation fall in love with her, the one that Jack could never quite master. It was by no means fake, but Jack thought he could see something cracking behind it. He realised, suddenly, that his mother was _worried_. “Come down in twenty minutes or so, alright?”

And with that, she left the room. Kent carefully lay down again, as if it cost him greatly to move at all. It was quite opposite to the way he had bolted upright only moments ago.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?” Jack asked, repressing a smile as best as he could.

“As a skunk, my handsome friend,” Kent replied, grinning as he curled into Jack’s side. “Think your mom’ll bring me pancakes in bed? She loves me, you know. It’s a Zimmermann thing.”

.

“D’you hookup last night?” Kent asked, ten minutes later when he was looking for his clothes on the bedroom floor. Jack, in the master bathroom, splashed water onto his face.

“Actually… yeah.”

Kent appeared in the doorway looking delighted as Jack lifted his head.

“No fuckin’ way, Zimms.”

“He was gorgeous, I invited him home and everything.”

Kent winced, “So, obviously that didn’t end well.”

Jack shrugged, “He definitely would have come home with me, but one of his friends showed up saying their other friend was being arrested in an alley or something. He ran off to help.”

“I… I think I saw that happening.” Kent said, looking thoughtful, “I remember _something_ happening in an alley.”

Jack snorted, “With you, Kenny? That could’ve been _anything_.”

“Shutup,” Kent rolled his eyes, walking into the bathroom and sitting down on the edge of the bath as Jack decided to finally shave off his jealousy beard. “Tell me about your hookup. What’d he look like.”

“Blonde,” Jack said, and Kent’s chest puffed out proudly, entirely aware that he himself fit perfectly into the category of _Jack’s Type_. “About this tall,” Jack levelled his palm just below his nose, “Brown eyes, I think? Gave excellent head.”

“Nice,” Kent’s eyes sparkled, pale grey in the light of the bathroom, “Name?”

It— it was on the tip of Jack’s tongue. “Uh… Buhhhh, Bee, something? Betsy? I think he gave me a fake name. Butty?”

Kent snorted, “Maybe he was just making sure you knew he was the Bottom.”

Jack shaved a patch under his chin up to his jaw, smirking at Kent in the mirror.

“Why do you think I invited him home with me?”

.

The smell of cooking floated up the stairs from the kitchen, and both men made their way down to find Alicia dishing up pancakes from the griddle in Jack’s kitchen.

“Thank you, _maman_ ,” he said, kissing her cheek as he took the plate from her. Alicia made a surprised noise and patted his newly-smooth cheek. Kent, just to be an asshole, also kissed her as he took a plate. Alicia didn’t blink an eye, because nine years of Jack and Kent’s friendship meant she was used to his tricks, and Jack punched Kent’s arm as they sat down at his breakfast bar.

Jack had tasted many a pancake in his life, none had yet to even come close to his mother’s recipe. They were perfectly thick and fluffy in a way he could never replicate; more often than not his attempts ended up doughy and eggy and barely palatable. He dumped a handful of blueberries over his stack, and dug into it.

Alicia sat down across from the boys at the breakfast bar, a mug of tea between her delicate hands. Jack already knew she was preparing for a Mom Speech™, so he sighed and put down his fork. Kent, his mouth full, looked between the two of them with a slightly confused expression on his face.

“I’m glad you seem… _lively_ this morning,” Alicia said (mom code for ‘only slightly hungover’), softly, “but that doesn’t mean that the matter needn't be addressed.”

“I know,” Jack said, quietly.

“And while I’m aware that you are an adult… you’re closer to thirty than you are to your teens, Jack… but—”

“Should I be here?” Kent asked suddenly.

“It’s fine,” Jack said, nudging Kent’s foot under the table as he took a drink from his orange juice.

“I’ve hired you a personal assistant,” Alicia said, and Jack nearly dropped his glass in shock.

“… _What?”_

“I just think if you have someone to help give your free time some sort of _order_ …”

“You think an _assistant_ will help me?”

“Jack… _honey_.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, dropping his head. He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on, but knew it was in no way related to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before. He’d been almost sober by the time he and Kent had gotten home. This headache was forming purely at the thought of Jack having to make room for another person in his like.

“His name is Eric, and he’s lovely. He can cook!”

“ _I_ can cook,” Jack protested.

“You can grill chicken, Jack,” Alicia frowned. “Look, just give Eric a chance, okay? For me. I promise, you _will_ like him. He left a pie at my office and ever since I’ve been plagued by questions about when he’s coming back!”

“Sounds like good pie,” Kent said, mostly to Jack. Jack resisted the urge to punch him again.

“I can’t believe you would hire someone without consulting me.”

“Maybe if you would pick up your phone once in a while, I _could_ have consulted you…” Alicia countered, raising an eyebrow. Jack stabbed at a pancake, jealous of their demise as he chewed them up and swallowed them. He wished the ground would swallow _him_.

“Fine,” he said, more out of guilt than anything else. “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing,” Alicia said. “There’s a car bringing him here from his hotel at around 5pm. All _you_ have to do is _behave_.”

“Now _this_ I can’t wait to see,” Kent pipped up, a shit-eating grin on his face. Jack finally gave into the urge to sock him in the arm again. Hard.

.

After breakfast, when his mother had left and Kent had wandered off to shower upstairs, Jack busied himself by cleaning the kitchen to channel his frustration. The rest of the day followed the usual Parse’n’Zimms post-party routine; Netflix, Gatorade, and two twenty-five year olds in a blanket fort.

“Do you think we go out too much?” Jack asked, in the middle of their fourth episode of Brooklyn 99.

“Like partying?” Kent asked, “Fuck no. _I’m_ the hot mess here. You’re no Lindsey Lohan, Jack… But your mom just worries. And it’s what moms do.”

Jack gave Kent the side-eye. “That’s weird… it’s almost like you’re making sense for once.”

Kent elbowed him, like the grown adult he was, and then popped two Pringles between his lips like a duck-bill.

“Hey. Look, I’m a penguin.”

Jack lifted his phone and snapped a picture before Kent could react. “I’m sending that to Kris.”

“Dude, I’m playing the Pens next week. Don’t ruin my cred.”

“What else are best friends for?”

.

By the time 5pm rolled around, Jack was sick to his stomach. Jack tended to be often surrounded by people, many of whom he barely knew. From a very young age, his life had been an open book to a media. Now that Jack was older and living his own life, he got to control who exactly he let into it.

Making room for an assistant, his own _personal assistant_ , made his skin prickle uncomfortably.

A black sedan rolled up the driveway almost exactly on time and Kent ran to get the door while Jack was putting away the last of the blankets that had been part of their fort.

“Hi— there,” Jack heard Kent say, his voice catching curiously, “Are you… Eric?”

“That’s me,” a voice replied, and Jack stood up straight, staring at his living room door where Kent stood just out of sight on the other side. “Eric Bittle. I’m—”

Jack burst through the door with wide eyes, little tendrils of panic seeming to constrict around his chest, his lungs, his heart. Kent turned around with wide, knowing eyes, and a shit-eating grin.

Eric was small, and blond, with the biggest brown eyes Jack had ever seen. He knew this because he’d had the exact same though when Eric had been on his knees the night before, sucking Jack’s dick.

“Oh god,” Eric squeaked, and took a step back. He wasn't wearing the little denim shorts, but his pants were the perfect cut to show off his long, slender legs. Jack swallowed hard.

“Oh god,” he echoed.

“You’re Jack Zimmermann.”

Kent snorted, “Dude, you didn’t recognise _Jack Zimmermann_ when you were sucking him off in a bathroom stall?”

Eric squeaked indignantly.

“Um! I was _drunk_. And he had a _beard_. And how do you know—”

“He knows everything,” Jack said, somewhat dissociating from the whole situation. His mother had hired him an assistant. Who happened to be the same guy Jack had hooked up with the night before. Who Jack suddenly couldn’t stop _looking_ at. “I… I was wondering what a southerner was doing up in Montreal.”

“That was one hell of a non-sequitur.”

“Parse, shut _up_ ,” Jack snapped, and Kent fell silent. The moment Jack stopped calling him ‘Kenny’ was the moment to shut his damn mouth. Eric seemed to catch on to Jack’s train of thought though, and shrugged, looking down at his feet. He seemed… _ashamed_. Jack suddenly felt guilty.

“My friends helped me move up here for my um, new job. They went home today, so we were celebrating last night.”

Jack swallowed thickly, and nodded.

“How long ago did my mom hire you?”

“Couple of weeks,” Eric said, “She told me I wasn’t allowed to contact you about it. That you’d be… belligerent.”

“Pretty sure the only reason he hasn’t fired you yet is because of your oral skills,” Kent said, and Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d _actually_ punched Kent in the face but it might happen soon.

Eric went bright red, and took a step back.

“I’ll just go.”

“Bitty,” Jack said, and Eric’s shoulders hunched up, his back turned on his way out the door. “That’s what you said your name was.”

“Bittle,” Eric replied, quiet and miserable sounding. “Bitty’s just… a nickname.”

“Listen, you don't have to go, just because I fucked up,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward, feeling like the guilt might just swallow him whole. Eric’s face softened.

“It’s okay. We both fucked up. I probably shouldn’t have gone out last night.”

“I say that, like, every morning,” Kent murmured from behind them, and Eric cracked a smile, looking down at his feet.

“You should stay,” Jack said, “We can have dinner and talk, forget about what happened. It’ll be fine, really.”

Eric looked torn for a minute, stock still in the doorway. Jack waited. 

“Can I cook?” Eric asked, and Jack felt his eyes widen.

“Y-yes, of course. If you want.”

“Okay. I’ll stay.” Eric said, shutting the door and stepping past Jack to where the kitchen was visible and the end of the hall. Kent nudged Jack’s arm gently when he didn’t move.

“Keep him,” Kent said, as serious as Jack’s ever seen him. 

“Yeah,” Jack breathed, feeling as though his world had tilted on it’s axis. “Maybe I will.”

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> [talk to me on tumblr :)](http://kantperson.tumblr.com). every single comment is appreciated more than you even know.


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